


What Lies Beyond

by CPK



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPK/pseuds/CPK
Summary: Priestess Hila at the Goddess of Luck's shrine is surprised to hear her prior has a mission for her: hunting ghosts.This is a novel-length work in progress.
Relationships: Cannel/Hila, Jora/Hila
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

The priest of the god of death shuffled to the pulpit. He didn’t look far from his deity, Hila observed, and then chastised herself for the impious thought. The priest raised one hand, cupped around a flame. He touched it to the holy candle on the pulpit, then waved the match out. The candle glowed, reflecting a warm orange in his eyes.

“May That Far One remain far from you,” the priest intoned.

“And also from you,” the congregation murmured, Hila a step behind them. It had been many years since she had reason to attend That Far One’s services. The rituals felt unfamiliar by now. She self-consciously rearranged the sleeves of her robe. In the early days of winter, That Far One’s shrine was freezing, and she tucked her hands into the ends of the opposite sleeves.

“Let us recall the story of Prior Jerem,” the priest intoned. He raised his eyes, and long, wispy brows caught the light, glinting like silver over his deep-set eyes. “As the first Prior of this shrine, he was visited by That Far One in his youth, when he swam in the ocean and was caught by an undertow. As the last bubbles left his mouth and he watched the surface recede, he was granted a vision of That Far One…”

All the other gods went by their names- Goddess of the Fertile Earth, God of Running Water- but the God of Death was not someone you wanted to address by name. You did not call his attention. Not before your time. Hila found herself half-hypnotized by the priest’s droning words, leaning forward, her chin tilting towards her chest. It was soporifically quiet in the shrine. Her eyelids began to flutter.

There was a flicker of someone or something, at the corner of her mind. Was that red? She had had this dream so many times, a dream of her own room interrupted by a red line.

Her own goddess, the Goddess of Luck, was with her yet. Just as Hila began to slip into deeper sleep, the priest stopped his sermon. The interruption in the flow of words was so startling she snapped upright again. One eyebrow quivered, and then the priest began hacking, one hand pressed to his throat. The congregation leaned forward, almost eager, as if they were hoping to witness That Far One taking one of his own. “Was that a fly?” someone murmured. “He swallowed a fly?”

The priest continued wheezing. One of his acolytes hurried forward with a glass of water, pressing it into his hands. The priest nudged him away, his coughing subsiding.

Hila took the opportunity to glance around the shrine. The whisper about the fly had echoed strangely. For the first time it really registered with her that the congregation numbered six, in a busy neighborhood not far from downtown. Where were the attendees? The devout? Her own services, at the Goddess of Luck’s shrine, were usually nearly full. But the empty benches stretched on either side of her, haunted by the people who weren’t there. Where was the congregation?

She raised her eyes surreptitiously, and saw the cobwebs festooning the low ceiling’s corners. Saw the pigeon that had built a nest in an awkwardly out-of-reach corner, and never been removed. Saw the tarnish on the holy candlestick and the candle-snuffer.

That Far One’s shrine had definitely seen better days.

The priest managed to gulp some air, then water, and resumed his droning. Hila spent the rest of the sermon observing the details of the shrine, half-remembering to press her hands over her eyes in a ritual farewell at the end of the service. His duty done, the priest turned and began to walk away as the other six people hurried out, one dropping a few coins into an offering bowl the novitiate held at the entrance.

“Excuse me,” Hila called out.

The priest paused and his head swiveled, turning to see her. Hila waved, feeling out of place in the solemn environment. “Good afternoon!”

“Good afternoon. One of the lucky ones, aren’t you?” the priest greeted her. He squinted slightly. “From the shrine two blocks north?”

“That’s me. Priestess Hila. Nice to meet you.” She bobbed her head in a friendly nod.

“And you. I’m Priest Nivoc.”

“It was a lovely service. Very thoughtful. Not enough thought is given to the significance of non-verbal communications from the gods, such as visions.”

Nivoc seemed genuinely touched.

“The reason I came, Nivoc, is that our prior has seen attendance dropping. Have you been experiencing the same?” She gestured behind her to the pews the novitiate was now sweeping under.

“Why, yes. For years now the numbers have dwindled.” He raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed heavily, new creases appearing alongside his mouth as he scowled. “In truth, we’re suffering. The First Prior has considered relocating the chapter. I tell him it’s not a matter of location, it’s a matter of faith.”

“I agree completely. But to see this level of apathy from the neighborhood, this small of a congregation… it’s shocking.”

“It is,” Nivoc sighed. “But we simply don’t know what other measures to take. We have experimented with the tone and content of our sermons. We have redecorated. Finally we appealed directly to That Far One, who has not yet seen fit to answer our prayers.” He raised his veined, coarse-haired hands in helplessness. “Nothing has succeeded, as of yet. Fifty years ago this temple was full to bursting.”

“I see.” Hila nodded again. “Well, you have my sympathies for your struggles. If it is of any comfort, the Goddess of Luck’s shrine may soon share your troubles.”

He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I hope not, priestess. It is a sad time when the gods are forgotten.”

As she walked out he returned to the altar, and in the final gesture of the service, snuffed the candle. Smoke arose in wavering lines, the symbol of That Far One.

\-----

“What exactly,” Hila grumped to her prior, Melis, “was the purpose of that assignment? Snooping around in That Far One’s shrine? We know they’ve been struggling for a long time. Sadly, he is the first one that the people turn from in times of trouble, afraid to see their future.”

“Did you notice an absence of any significant figure being mentioned?” her prior asked in rebuttal.

Hila considered and drew a blank.

“Didn’t you think it odd,” he said slowly, “that there was no mention of Lev?”

The murderous cult leader had been the last thing on her mind. Though he had raised a religious fervor some decades ago that had led to hundreds of deaths, and very nearly an overthrow of government, he had been executed not long after. The shadow of his influence had left a stain on the world, particularly Effer, their capital city where he had preached. But he was little more than that, only a shadow on history.

“Well, they certainly wouldn’t want to associate with him.” The clergy had seen Lev’s efforts as sacrilegious. He encouraged his practitioners to kill willing members of the cult, hoping that in the attempt they would be granted visions of the afterlife to answer mankind’s questions. Their murders trespassed on the territory of That Far One.

Prior Melis nodded. “Naturally they would want to condemn him. But these days, it is impolitic to even mention him. The hint of controversy is driving the remnants of his cult into action.”

“Those fringe remnants?” Hila considered. “It’s sad, but what does that have to do with us?”

“Hila, they’re gaining influence. They’ve even gained sway over a few of our congregation, who confessed to me their doubts before vanishing from attendance. The cult pulls them away from the shrines, into a world of their own doubt. That is when the cult strikes, demanding the murder of its followers in their futile attempt to see beyond.”

She waited patiently for him to illuminate more of the connection.

“What the people need,” he explained, “in this time of great doubt, this time of inappropriate, heretical influences… is faith. I have a rather unusual undertaking to assign to you.”

Hila’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. She had rarely been assigned anything without some say in the matter.

“There is a man,” Melis said. “He is considered somewhat controversial in his own right.”

There was a long pause as Melis considered how best to phrase it. Hila felt uneasy. She didn’t want any brush with controversy. She had served the Goddess of Luck for over a decade, with single-minded goodwill towards her fellow man. Anything that interrupted that seemed like a dangerous diversion from the path the goddess had laid before her years ago.

“He is attempting to raise ghosts.”

Of all the things her prior could have said, that was the last thing Hila was expecting. It was nearly as heretical an idea as a murderous cult. The gods had never seen fit to enlighten the world as to the role of ghosts, which were nevertheless persistently rumored to exist, much like unicorns or flying machines. Hila found her mouth hanging open. She decided to close it, but also to gawk at her prior.

“We believe,” Melis continued, “that the influence of a priestess of luck may bring greater success to his endeavors. He has so far not managed to raise a ghost, though certainly not for want of trying. He’s been over half the country in the last few months, anywhere there is rumor of a haunting, trying every superstition and scientific methods to bring back evidence of a ghost.”

“But why would we want to assist him? Melis, that’s- that’s in the realm of That Far One, for starters. And secondly, it’s not humanity’s place!”

“You may be right,” the prior agreed. Her mouth began to sag open again. This made no sense. “Not only Effer, but Curannis as a whole has been rocked by that monster, Lev. You are too young to know, Hila, how far-reaching the consequences of his actions were. Families torn apart. Faith destroyed. Doubt sown in the temples and clergy themselves! But the First Prior has given his encouragement, and even his orders, in this matter.”

“Why?”

“Because if a ghost can be raised, it can be conversed with.” He leaned forward slightly, his pale blue eyes gleaming. “And if it can be conversed with, it can tell us what it knows of the afterlife.”

At last the pieces began connecting.

“You want proof of the afterlife,” Hila mused. “To bring back the faithful, and to make them see the gods’ place in their lives again. And if we speak to those already dead, it shouldn’t offend That Far One, either.” To the best of her knowledge, there was no precedent for such bold divine research in the whole country of Curannis.

“Exactly. And I have chosen you, priestess, to be the one to accompany this man. Your unswerving dedication, and the degree to which the godde-ss has favored you, recommend you to this task.”

Hila’s mood soured. The attention, which the goddess had graced her with, had not always been positive. “Does this man have a name?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Jora Elantis. Nice to meet you!” the trim man declared. He thrust a hand forward.

Hila found she could look into his dark eyes with ease. She was a tall woman, and his face was level with hers, though an appropriate distance away. Neither friendly nor apprehensive. She shook his hand and released it quickly.

“Please have a seat,” Melis invited.

A chair scraped out as the man did so, and there was an awkward pause. They sat in a teashop gently scented by steaming concoctions. Hila cupped her hand around her strong black tea. Melis’s cup was full of rose tea. A plate of cookies, gently sculpted into the God of Fertile Earth’s insignia of a sprout, lay untouched before them. Having occupied a private room, there was a paper screen door to pull closed. It wouldn’t entirely block sound, but it at least blocked them from sight.

The three considered each other.

Finally the prior introduced himself, and Hila, who nodded. After another silent moment, the serving girl entered with a cup of black tea for Jora and then left again. He glanced at Hila’s cup and grinned.

“A priestess of excellent taste,” he said. He glanced at Melis’s cup. “And a prior of refined taste. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Though I find myself puzzled.”

“In what way?” Melis asked.

“I applied to several temples. I thought I would be successful with That Far One’s temple.” He covered his eyes briefly when referring to the god of death, as a mark of piety in the presence of a priestess and prior. “But when I approached the prior of that temple, I was more or less redirected to a lesser shrine, and finally to you. Though I have procured an acolyte from That Far One’s shrine for my endeavor.”

Hila noted his verbiage, the way he referred to an acolyte as if he had gone shopping. This was a man who would go to great lengths to achieve his mission, who collected anyone who might be useful to him.

“That is because you have been entirely unsuccessful,” the prior said smoothly.

To his credit, Jora did not flush. He did raise his chin a fraction. Proud, Hila thought. “Which is something I understand a partnership between us could alter.”

“So we hope.” Melis nudged Hila under the table, prompting her to take over as they had discussed. If she was to work with this man, he had to understand she was a capable priestess, not merely an instrument of the prior.

“The reason we agreed to this meeting, and to the potential of a partnership,” she began, “is that the Goddess of Luck is known to favor her clergy. And, specifically, me.”

“How can that be measured?” His eyes were keen, assessing her, as if she was going to produce a four-leaf clover from thin air.

“It can be.” She left it at that. “The goddess has been a strong influence in my life even before I joined the clergy. The presence of a favored person, especially her clergy, can dramatically alter the probability of any given event.” She paused. “That is not to say she makes the impossible, possible. But we believe your mission is possible.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He took a sip of his steaming drink without flinching.

“That Far One’s clergy have long referred to the shades that wander the earth. The clergy of the other gods consider it a possibility. If we attempt to raise them, my presence should induce the Goddess of Luck to smile on us. That means that it will be far more likely we actually raise one.”

“That’s just what I need.” He paused. “What’s in it for you?”

“Frankly,” the prior admitted, “the hope that you will be able to obtain information on the afterlife. If we can present this information, which scholars and wise men have debated for centuries, there is a strong chance we can sweep away Lev’s influence once and for all, and regain our rightful presence in the public’s lives.”

“You want influence,” Jora said.

“Not at all. We want to survive. And we want to extend the goddess’s blessing to those who seek it.” He bowed his head reverently for a moment. “The gods have lost the public’s interest. We need to change that, before we incur their severe disfavor. As we did during the times of Lev.”

“The drought,” Jora said. Hila twitched. His eyes flicked to her and remained there a moment. She met his gaze steadily. “The famine. The starvation.”

“We lost many citizens,” Melis said heavily. “It was a tragedy I hope your generation will never see the likes of.”

“So it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. What are the exact terms?”

“Include me in your rituals and attempts to raise the ghosts. Share all results of your research with me. Send duplicates of your reports and relevant materials to prior Melis.” Hila glanced at him. “We will provide a certain amount of funding that should help you, and more than cover the cost of my keep.”

“How much?” Jora asked shrewdly.

Prior Melis named a number.

Hila observed a surprised widening of his eyes, which he quickly reduced. He considered a moment, and apparently decided haggling with clergy was inappropriate.

His hand was extended again. “We have a deal.”

\-----

“Are you sure about this?”

Cannel’s voice was even softer than the hand he trailed down her arm. Hila shivered pleasantly and looped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him in the alcove of the shrine’s gardens. A novitiate was pruning thirty feet away, but couldn’t hear a word over the trickling sound of the nearby fountains. She hadn’t even seen them, as they were tucked into the niche behind a bust of the goddess.

“Yes,” Hila responded, her lips tracing against Cannel’s. “I am.”

“I know you’ve always pondered the afterlife.” He hesitated. “I even remember you telling me it was your only hesitation before joining the shrine. You weren’t sure if there even was one.”

“I am sure now. And I want proof.” She pulled away slightly, now that he had decided to converse rather than caress. “I want to hear with my own ears what these spirits can tell us about where they’ve come from.”

“If they’re really shades that wander the earth, have they even seen what comes beyond?”

“You know there’s no official literature on it.” The only mention of shades on earth came from a single prophet of That Far One, two centuries before. “Think of what they must have observed. We can share it. We can comfort the masses. Everybody lost somebody to Lev. We may even end up with a method of communication with… the beyond.”

He shook his head. “You seemed so content here. It’s been a long time since you lived in the world, Hila. Are you sure you’re ready to leave the shrine?”

She paused and considered. It was a factor in her decision, she had no doubt. She was surprised, in fact, at how significant a factor it was. “I am curious,” she admitted. “I’m very curious to see how things have changed. To see more, beyond the shrine’s walls. To see what we can discover.”

“Oh, there’s a we, is there?” Cannel bent his head slightly, rubbing his nose against Hila’s. She giggled, and he pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound as the busy novitiate glanced up. “You’re curious about discovering more about this Jora, I bet.”

She sighed, kissing his fingertips as his hand lowered to her waist once more. “You know that has nothing to do with it. He told us he has That Far One’s acolyte and two others on his team. They may as well be chaperones. It’ll all be very proper. And,” she added, suddenly inspired, “if he tries anything I’ll tell him the goddess cursed him.”

This time she had to cover his mouth as he chuckled. The novitiate looked around longer at this second noise, but unable to see them, returned to her duties. “There’s no one but you,” she breathed.

“You’re sure about that?” Cannel whispered, his head dropping further. His lips brushed the side of her neck, just under her ear, so she could hear his voice even though it was barely audible. “No one but me?”

“And if I ever made you doubt it, I was wrong.” She pressed her cheek to his. “I shouldn’t even be away too long. They think a few months. Then hopefully I’ll come back with information to change the course of religion as we know it, and all will be well.” She couldn’t hide the eagerness in her voice.

“And this man, I did some asking around. He doesn’t have the best reputation, Hila.”

“What do you mean?”

“The word in the temples is, the God of Fertile Earth’s shrine turned him down because of his history using brainblow.”

Hila recognized the name of the drug. It had affected Effer, to some degree, when it was developed and became popular. She had seen its users shambling from doorway to doorway, begging, coughing violently as their abused lungs dissolved into a red foam they spat up.

“I’m sure the prior wouldn’t have me working with this man if it was true.”

He sighed. “I suppose I have no choice.” His hands were on either side of her face, squeezing gently. His blue eyes pierced hers. “Take care of yourself, love.”

“I will.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I promise.”

\-----

Late that night, while Cannel lay sleeping in his bed, Hila crept out of it. She shoved her feet into shoes and wrapped her clothes around herself against the chill, padding as quietly as possible through the sleeping shrine to a prayer room. The novitiate who attended it through the night blinked at her sleepily and shut the door behind her to grant her privacy.

She nudged the fire with a poker, watching it flare up.

“Goddess,” she began, “I come before you humbly to ask your blessing. And to ask you, please grant us your blessing on this endeavor. We wish to bring glory to the gods again, and with your goodwill, I hope that we might. Please, show me a sign of your favor. Amen.”

Prayer said, she reached into the small pot to the side of the fire, pulled out three delicate bones, and cast them in the fire.

After a moment she leaned so close she nearly singed off her eyebrows, grabbing tongs to extract the bones. They were cracked by heat, and she squinted, her face red in the glow of the fire, red as the ribbons she saw crossing her dreams. She turned them over and over, trying to see some image in the cracks that could relate to her future.

All she could see was her fumbling hands, dropping the largest bone, which cracked into pieces. One shot under the lip of a cabinet on the wall where she knew more bones were stored. Swearing, she shuffled over on her knees to pull it out.

Rather than a bone fragment, what she pulled out was soft and pliable. To her surprise, her fingers emerged clutching a short red ribbon, the type that would be tied around a child’s braid.

She swore again and dropped it as if it were a coal. She scrambled up and raced out of the room, ignoring the novitiate’s questioning gaze. Cannel awoke when she climbed back into bed.

“Where have you been, my sweet?” he murmured, his arms closing around. He brushed a kiss against her ear.

“Nowhere.” She wiggled closer against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere until morning. You have me all night.”

They made good use of it.

\-----

“Will you get a move on already?” Jora groaned.

Hila reluctantly pulled her hand from Cannel’s and gave a wave to the rest of her shrine. She carried with her a bag full of toiletries and spare clothes, as well as street wear with the golden insignia of a card on the breast and sleeves, marking her as the Goddess of Luck’s.

“I wish you the goddess’s favor,” the prior called to her. Her friends the novitiates, acolytes, and priests waved to her as she clambered into the overlarge rickshaw, to discover a stranger staring at her. She was vaguely aware of the rickshaw rocking as the driver loaded her bag with others onto the cage between his pedals and the front wall of the rickshaw’s body. Jora hurled himself in after shaking hands with the prior and receiving a bag of gold. With a lurch forward the driver started to pedal.

“Get cozy,” Jora advised them both. “It’s about five hours to our first destination. We’ll swap for electric once we’re out of the city.” He settled back in his seat, took out a battered brown notebook, and began perusing it.

Hila looked over the man sitting opposite her and felt an immediate sense of ease. He wore normal clothes like her, but with the insignia of a snuffed candle. He belonged to That Far One, and he even looked a bit familiar.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, extending a hand. She shook it. “I’m acolyte Merrik, of That Far One. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Priestess Hila, a lucky one,” she responded. “You know, I think I recognize you. During the last festival of prayerful lights, didn’t you get scolded by your prior? I remember seeing you looking as if you were about to be beaten!”

“That was me,” he agreed, with no hint of remorse. “I was seen speaking to a lovely lady friend of mine. The prior assumed I had… inappropriate intentions, and was scolding me for not focusing on my studies and duties. I was just a novitiate then.”

“And were your intentions inappropriate?” she couldn’t help asking.

Merrik laid a hand on his chest, as if shocked. “Certainly not! I was a picture-perfect novitiate. She was a dear friend from my hometown.”

Jora looked intrigued by this turn of events.

“Whom I’d always fancied,” he finished, with a smirk.

“I picked up Merrik from his shrine,” Jora explained to Hila. “They were kind enough to lend him to me for my work. The priors, both his and yours, considered it wise to have a calming influence on the ghosts once we raise them. You know, should they prove reluctant to return to their slumber.” The idea didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“And you’re here to help raise them,” Merrik mused, staring at Hila. There was, thankfully, not even a hint of the untoward in him.

“I hope to affect the odds,” she said. “Having been lucky enough to have received some of the goddess’s favor, maybe I can draw her eye to our shared venture.”

“If the gods see fit to give us insight into the afterlife- what a revelation!”

“If,” she agreed. She found herself turning to stare out the window, watching as the city rolled past at a leisurely pace.

The clergy rarely had reason to venture far from their shrines. Though of course they had freedom and occasional free days to explore, to wander, to patronize shops or visit loved ones, there was only so far one could travel in a day. In a few moments, they had passed beyond what she was familiar with, into what she only vaguely remembered from her youth. Occasionally Merrik would draw her into chatter, but Jora was single-minded in his study of the notebook.

The silence was not uncomfortable, and it left Hila time to chase her thoughts. She quickly found herself remembering the last time she had passed through the city outskirts. Even more quickly, she distracted herself by interrupting Jora.

“What is it you’re reading?”

“My notes,” he said shortly.

Refusing to be dissuaded, she followed up with, “Notes on what?”

“Our previous attempts.” His eyes never rose from the pages.

If they were to work together, he would have to reconcile himself to conversation sooner or later. She decided to wait until they were further from the city, so that it would be more difficult for him to break the bargain and send her away if she irritated him.

When the city had mostly passed they exchanged the rickshaw for an electric cart. As they loaded into the e-cart, two unfamiliar faces approached from a nearby café. They greeted Jora as old friends, and turned to introduce themselves to the clergy. The woman, even taller than Hila, was named Tremys. The burly man was Ufter.

“I gather data on our ghosts on location,” Tremys explained. She waved a hand at a heavily padded and oddly square bag that she had nestled lovingly into the baggage rack on the e-cart. “I built several of our instruments myself, but most are conventional. Audio recorders and cameras and such.”

“And I,” Ufter rumbled, “am the muscle.”

He flexed comically and Hila had to laugh. He had an open, friendly nature but possessed a masterful straight face. His twinkling eyes were his only giveaway.

“He’s too modest,” Jora said, with a hint of fondness. “This gentleman is also a renowned historian, and skilled in the art of reconnaissance.”

“He means drinking villagers under the table in pursuit of ghost stories,” Ufter clarified.

“And we’re off,” Jora added pointedly, clambering in. This time Hila wound up at his side, facing backwards on the bench at the front of the e-cart, while the others faced forward.

Amicable chatter rattled out, and she found herself pleasantly distracted from the jolting of their conveyance. Tremys and Ufter clearly knew each other well, and shared an excellent rapport. Jora eventually stowed his notebook and entered the conversation as well. Hila and Merrik, by far the quietest of the group, as its newest members, were soon drawn in as if by old friends.

After an hour or so, Jora pulled out a sheaf of papers from a folder and began to spread them across his knees. “This, team, is our next mission. The Bonneville Mansion.” Hila squinted and recognized the papers as blueprints. A sheet of handwriting, on which she caught words like ‘encounter’ and ‘hostile,’ were underneath. “We’ve had multiple reports, as well as historical accounts, of the ghost here-” he jabbed a finger at the entryway- “and here.” Another jab at a hallway that led through what appeared to be bedrooms. “This second spot is near his old chambers.” He gestured to Ufter, who took over. 

“The first sightings were over a hundred years ago. He’s supposed to be an heir to the mansion, who was murdered- village rumor said, by his younger, nearly bankrupt brother, who was able to reverse his fortunes with the inheritance. No one has been able to inhabit the place more than a few years since then. All unnerved by sightings.”

“What happens during the sightings?” Hila asked hesitantly.

Jora glanced sideways at her and gave the slightest nod, approving of her question.

“It ranges,” Ufter said, “from being followed by an apparition only visible in a mirror, to menacing the residents by throwing things. He’s not the most active, in terms of number of appearances. But he certainly makes his presence known when he’s around.”

“We’ve got an angry one, then,” Tremys said.

“Seems like. And, if we have the outcome I hope for, we’ll be able to get some information from him and lay him to rest.” Jora glanced at Hila again, then Merrik. A grin curled up his lips. “I have more hope than I have had for some time.”

Tremys gave him the faintest sad smile. Hila wondered why her expression seemed almost mournful. “We’ll get him, boss.”

“I hope so.” Jora rolled up the maps and clutched the folder in front of his stomach. Hila wondered if he was as nervous as she was. “As usual, we’ve been granted permission for our work by the current owners, descendants of the ghost in question. They’ve been just as unsettled by his visits as all the rest, and are on the verge of selling. If we can make some progress with the ghost, we may save a family’s peace.” His determined expression was intense, his eyes blazing. “And I believe we can do it.”


	3. Chapter 3

“When you first wrote, you said your team numbered three.” The owner, one Essifus von Strap, peered at the group on his doorstep somewhat suspiciously.

“We have received assistance from That Far One’s shrine, as well as the Goddess of Luck’s,” Jora explained. He introduced them all. “We have higher hopes for success today than we ever have. The priestess particularly is said to have been favored by the goddess, which alters our chances significantly.”

Von Strap stared at Hila. “Forgive me, priestess. We aren’t particularly religious in these parts. How can one know one has received the goddess’s favor?”

“Stay around me long enough and you’ll see,” she said.

This seemed to unsettle him slightly, but he stepped aside and let them enter.

The Bonneville Mansion was a sight to behold. It was utterly magnificent and gloomy at the same time, as though hardly lived in. The staircase before them rose three stories with beautiful curves. Doorways capped with arches led to a multitude of rooms. Brightly colored, clean rugs softened their footfalls. At the same time, heavy velvet curtains obscured the light. Only half the electric lights were on. The overall impression was dim and depressing.

“You’ll have to forgive the state of the place. We’ve hardly been happy here in recent times. We’ve been trying to spend time elsewhere.” Von Strap glanced up the stairs, at a vision of a woman who descended slowly. “It’s hard to show the old place the appreciation it deserves. Malla, my dear, please welcome the ghost raisers.”

“Such an exciting endeavor, I- oops!”

The woman had barely reached the second landing when the heel of her shoe split away from the sole, leaving her wobbling precariously. She grabbed at the banister as her ankle wrenched and went pale.

Hila flinched, watching the woman’s slim but curved form fight not to tumble down the stairs. At last she won the battle with gravity and managed to maintain her upright posture until her scrambling husband reached her side, offering his arm for support.

“Those shoes,” Malla murmured, “they’re brand new… how could they…?”

The crew of ghost raisers fought, simultaneously, not to stare at Hila. She had warned them, after all.

“Please excuse me,” von Strap called back down, nearly frantic with worry. “ELTUS!” he bellowed, startling everyone, and then, “Eltus, my house manager, will assist you- I believe I need to call a doctor for this fine lady.” The flirtatious fondness in his voice made his wife smile, though her face was still pale. “Excuse me.”

He managed to help her limp away, out of sight behind a heavy wooden door. It shut with a surprisingly soft click.

The group stood awkwardly in the foyer for no more than a moment before a man hurried to their side, slowing to a stately trot as he reached them. “I am Eltus. It’s a pleasure.” He was clearly confused, not having witnessed the accident, but chugged ahead bravely. “I would be delighted to show you where you may unload your things, and the locations of concern.”

He gave them a brief tour as they trooped through, heavily laden, after him. They dumped their bags from their hired e-cart in a closet, shedding coats and extra equipment. Tremys extracted several bulky devices and distributed them among the group without a word. Hila found herself clutching something that sprouted curly wires. As he led them along to the wing of bedrooms, he began to explain.

“Mr. and Mrs. von Strap have found themselves unable to dwell in the main wing’s bedrooms.” He gestured down a long, dim hallway. “Due to the unfriendly influence of the ghost. There were many times they reported their belongings had been rearranged or broken while no staff or family members had entered their room. Later they began to witness things flying about, thrown against walls or directed at their persons, with no visible means of perpetuating these actions. And finally the ghost himself began to appear to them. Usually this was late at night, awakening them by leaning over them brandishing a bloody rope.” He peered at them curiously.

“Nighttime has long been considered That Far One’s domain,” Merrik said helpfully. “As people sleep, they come closer to his kingdom, and of course many are taken under his hand as they sleep. This could have influenced the timing of his appearances, making it easier to cross from death’s realm into this one.”

This appeared to be something Jora had not considered. Hila watched him extract his notebook again and begin scribbling, doing so while still looking up. She wondered if he would be able to read the notes later, as he wrote without looking.

“And are you aware of the circumstances of the ghost’s death?”

“A Mr. Clogue von Strap,” Ufter stated. “An uncertain will dividing the owner’s property among his sons, without mention of the mansion specifically, led to some quarreling amongst the heirs. There was previous tension between them. None wanted to share Bonneville Mansion with the others. Eventually the daughter surrendered her claim, given that she had been left out of the will entirely due to an undesirable marriage. The two sons continued legal assaults upon each other. Finally the eldest was discovered hung from the main chandelier, found in the foyer first thing in the morning by a maid who screamed so loudly she brought the household running. There was some question as to whether the man had broken skin on his throat from the pressure of the rope, or from…” Ufter paused at last in his recitation. Eltus nodded reluctantly. “Or from having his throat cut, presumably by the eldest son. It was a long fall from the ladder he used to secure the rope to the chandelier. The current owners are descendants of the younger son.”

“I see you have done your research,” Eltus said delicately. He stopped before a certain door and pulled out a key, which immediately snapped in the lock. He looked aghast as he held the stump before his eyes. “Well, I- this key is an antique but it’s certainly not fragile. I never….”

This time Tremys couldn’t resist a glance at Hila, who shrugged. There was meaning to the goddess’s every touch, and she was certain that there was a greater purpose behind this too.

“Well,” Eltus continued, flustered, “what is your plan, if I may ask?”

“We’d like to remain here for a bit, taking data,” Jora said. “After that, we can find our own way to the entrance, and then to where our gear is stowed. We do require freedom to traverse the mansion. It may be necessary, but if not required by circumstances we certainly won’t intrude elsewhere.”

Hila, who had already begun to understand some of Jora’s mannerisms, translated this uncharacteristically flowery speech to _Let us roam, and stay out of our way._

“Understood,” Eltus said. “I shall leave you to it.”

As he departed, Tremys was already taking a smaller device from Ufter’s formidable fist, waving it through the air.

“What’s-” Hila began. Jora hushed her instantly. She decided scolding him would not endear her to the crew, and found herself instead looking around the opulent hallway. Silvery wallpaper reflected the scant light from a window at the end of the hall. The doors were finely carved, rich, dark wood. The doorknobs were tarnished. She wanted to look out the window but hesitated, seeing how lightly Tremys stepped as she approached the door. Everyone else seemed to be holding their breath, except for Merrik, who looked as puzzled as she did.

“Is anyone here?” Tremys paused for a long moment. “Anyone here who would like to speak?”

After another long moment, she clicked a button and nodded. “Sound recorder,” she explained to the priestess and acolyte. “To be honest, we’ve never recorded anything quite definitive, but there’s a theory that the ghosts might be able to influence the electronics and the sensitive tapes inside.”

“Let’s hear it,” Jora said.

She clicked a button. There was a crackle to the tape that certainly hadn’t been present in the recording.

“Your scarf must have brushed the recorder receiver,” Jora said lightly.

“Is anyone here?” her voice rang out from the machine. A silence. “Is any-”

“Is anyone here?” Tremys’s voice said again.

“Tremys,” Jora scolded, his eyes raising from the device to her. Her eyes were frightfully wide. “Tremys?”

“That wasn’t me,” she whispered. “I didn’t say anything.”

As one, the group whirled and began looking along the hallway.

“Could it have come from another room?”

“No, the doors are shut, it would’ve been muffled.”

“Just an echo?”

“It was clear as day, and twice as loud!”

Hila felt goosebumps crawling up her arms. The recording had continued, and as their debate died down, she heard the tail end of Tremys’s second question. And, unmistakably, a gravelly voice that rasped out from the machine, “Me.”

Five jaws dropped.

The recording ended.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a long moment of silence, yet again, as the group glanced between each other, obviously unsettled. Jora’s eyes were positively glowing with delight.

“Has that ever happened before?” Hila heard herself say.

“Never,” Ufter breathed. He sounded like he’d been punched in the gut.

Tremys took a shaky breath and began to poke at a different device from Merrik’s arms. Jora was scribbling furiously.

“We’ve never had success like that,” Ufter said. His eyes drifted across the two clergy. “Never. Never heard a thing but bits of static.”

“I’ve got something,” Tremys interrupted. She was pointing something with a thin antenna at a spot before the door with the key broken off. “It’s too cold.”

Merrik looked as confused as Hila felt. Jora was obviously too busy to explain, as he peered over Tremys’s shoulder and wrote what he saw.

“That’s indicative of a spirit,” Ufter said, taking mercy on them. “The dead, being, well, dead, are presumed to bring the cold with them.”

“It’s winter,” Hila couldn’t help pointing out.

“There’s a ten-degree difference. Feel it yourself.” She waved at the door. Merrik and Hila obediently stepped forward from the comfortable hallway and felt cold wash over them as they approached the door. It was as if a curtain separated them from the chill, and they had passed through it. Hila retreated hastily, but Merrik remain, murmuring, “Fascinating.”

“Replicate it?” Jora said to Tremys, his voice quivering slightly.

She nodded and held up the recorder again, motioning them to be still. “Who are you?”

Jora gave it time for an answer, and added, “What do you want?”

Tremys ended the recording after nearly half a minute of waiting. Immediately the group crowded around again, holding their breath as she pressed play.

“Who are you?” Tremys’s calm voice repeated back. Then the entire group flinched away as an unearthly screech of static, louder than one would think possible to emit from such a small device, rang out. The hallway echoed the horrible, shrill sound. Tremys winced as well but held firm. Jora’s “What do you want?” was almost drowned out by the static, which continued until the end of the recording.

Hila rubbed her ears as the recording ended. “Well, that was…”

“Unlikely,” Jora said firmly.

\-----

“Incredible!” Eltus exclaimed after listening, though his eyes watered from the noise.

“Even these preliminary findings are unprecedented.” Jora’s eyes glowed feverishly. “Beyond that, we’ve mapped out temperature differences and spikes of static electricity. Naturally this is the most compelling evidence, though. Please relay this to Mr. and Mrs. von Strap at your convenience.”

“I shall relay it immediately! This should be a great comfort to them, that their home shall soon be purged of this vile presence.” Eltus took off at a fast, and very nearly undignified, trot. With Hila’s assistance, Tremys was copying the tapes.

“Put that in there- nope, facing so that the spokes of the wheel fit into the notches. Very good. Close the drawer, and all we have to do is press ‘copy.’ Thanks, Hila.”

“Glad to be of help.”

Heavy footsteps interrupted the companionable smile she shared with Tremys. Two warm hands gripped one of hers, and shook it vehemently. “You,” Jora said, “are a godsend! Literally!” He pumped her hand some more, with a slightly unhinged laugh, before turning to Merrik and repeating the gesture. “I am grateful for both of you. In a few hours the gods have smiled on us more than they ever have!”

For a moment, watching Jora’s frenzy of enthusiasm, Hila had to wonder if he was using brainblow. His voice was fast, high, excited. He certainly had the reputation for it. But his oldest teammates, Tremys and Ufter, didn’t seem concerned. He was simply, she concluded, very enthusiastic.

“Think of the things we can learn,” he raved, and then turned to Tremys. “There’s that painting of his wife in the first floor study. What do you say we go there and play back his own recording?”

“Good plan, boss,” she agreed, and hefted a large device into Ufter’s arms. Hila recognized little but a light bulb screwed onto the top. “Camera,” Tremys explained, and selected two recorders. Evening was advancing, and the halls seemed even darker as they hurried to the study. An owl hooted outside.

They had hardly stepped inside and flicked on the lights before Tremys had set a recorder to play back the ghost’s voice. The noise was unpleasant but they bore it. Hila studied the painting of the long-dead man’s wife on the opposite wall. It was faded by time, and obscured by the smoke of candles and lanterns used before the times of electric lights. She took in the woman’s wide, hopeful eyes, the graceful smile curving her lips. She was dressed in an antiquated manner, but obviously rich, decked in lace and looped with expensive beads.

Tremys, meanwhile, was setting the other recorder up to record again, but the fresh tape had somehow gotten stuck. Jora hurried to help her, Ufter producing a small tool to assist. Merrik stepped back, following his instructions and photographing the room at large. He and Hila were the ones who saw it first.

“Uhhh… Jora?” Merrik called timidly.

Jora glanced up, and seeing nothing extraordinary, returned his gaze to the instrument. “Yes, Merrik?”

Merrik glanced at Hila who, pale-faced, gave him a nod. They had seen the same thing. “Were there fingerprints on the portrait when we came in?”

“Fingerprints?” His head snapped up again. Tremys remained focused, but he and Ufter turned to see the long smears, smudges of brighter colors in the shape of four fingers and a thumb dragged along the portrait’s face. The soot had been rubbed away. “That most certainly was not there.”

Tremys finally got the tape to begin recording, although they continued chattering excitedly as Merrik took a photo of the painting. Hila felt uneasy. This all felt unreal, as if she had stepped into a spooky story. A dark mansion, a neglected, cobwebbed room, an angry ghost. It was all too much. She felt herself wishing for Cannel, for his warm hand in hers, his hand brushing the stray hair from her face and whispering something soothing in her ear. He was a gentle man of whispers, not like these people of bold action. After the peace of the shrine, all this commotion was a little overwhelming.

Tremys was waving them to quiet. This time it was Jora who spoke into the silence for the recorder. “Mr. Clogue von Strap,” he began. “We know you’re unhappy. What would you like to say?”

There was no audible reply. They waited. Jora began to ask the same question when he was interrupted by a rapping at the door.

Essifus stepped into the frame, his face twisted with apprehension. “Excuse me. Eltus has just reported your findings to us, and we wanted to check in before the doctor arrives. We’ve never… never heard of such things, of such concrete discoveries.”

“Nor,” Jora replied honestly, “have we.”

“And the oddest thing- just as I was walking past old Clogue’s door, it opened! All by itself! And you know, when I looked, the key was snapped in the lock, but it just swung open, as if someone were coming out.”

There was a gentle step behind him. Hila felt the hairs on her arms raise as a chill swept over her. Merrik shivered suddenly. The lights flickered, so quickly that it was difficult to say for sure that it had happened at all. Malla stepped into view just through the doorway, leaning heavily on Eltus.

“Darling,” Essifus cried, whirling to face her. He hurried to her side. “You should be lying down, think of the-”

None of them saw where it came from, but they all saw it. An enormous blur, no more than a cloud that might have been in the shape of a man, rushed past. Essifus glanced up and froze with fear. Malla caught sight of the ghost rushing at her and her ankle gave way once more, dropping her to the floor like a fallen tower. The angry ghost, the rush of energy and mass, rather than colliding with her abdomen, crashed into Essifus and threw him against the far wall.

Essifus’s head rebounded against the wall.

Ufter leapt forward and swiped at the ghost. His hands passed through it as though it were fog, though it continued to batter Essifus.

“Merrik!” Jora roared, sprinting past the frozen acolyte. Merrik obediently raised the camera as Jora raced towards the struggle.

Hila found herself wondering, now they had found a ghost, how they would get rid of it before someone was killed.

Ufter grabbed Essifus and hovered over him like a human blanket. The insidious and late von Strap attempted to reach around Ufter, and then, judging from the wince on Ufter’s face, did something unpleasant to him. He staggered away, and the ghost wrapped it arms around Essifus’s neck. The dazed man couldn’t put up a fight. Eltus was trying to drag Malla away, and she was fighting just as hard to get to her husband.

“Tell us!” Jora cried, clawing at the arms around Essifus’s neck. With one blow he was sent flying as well.

“Tell us what lies beyond!” Tremys commanded, holding her recorder up.

“You want to know?” the ghost growled. “Do you?” And it lowered its blur of a head towards Essifus’s. Nothing was audible but Malla’s cries, Eltus’s protests, and an occasional hiss of a whisper from the ghost.

To Hila’s surprise, she found herself knocked aside as Merrik surged forward. He began speaking at high speed, reciting the graveside sermon faster than a hurricane’s winds.

“We gather here to witness a loved one passing into That Far One’s arms, who welcomes this newcomer to his lands.”

The ghost lifted its head. In a sudden frenzy Jora ripped Essifus away, shielding the man behind himself. He lifted the camera and began snapping furiously. The light seemed to startle the spirit.

“May he be happy there into eternity-”

“No!” the ghost cried, grabbing at tendrils that might once have been hair. “No!”

“And may we be reunited when That Far One welcomes us, in our turn,” Merrik proclaimed, slowing slightly as his voice strengthened.

“No!” The voice was distinctly fainter. The ghost whirled in a circle and then suddenly flew to the portrait of his wife. The group flinched back from it. “Eunice… Eunice…”

“Thank you for granting us our time together. We will meet again. Amen.”

Hila instinctively bowed her head as the sermon concluded, covering her eyes for a split second, as appropriate.

“My dear, my darling…” The ghost was little more than a wisp. The portrait’s details were clear through him. His voice was a shrill echo. “Is it time? Is it finally, finally time?”

And he was gone.

\-----  
  
Several things were decided in their debriefing. The first, as the doctor arrived to see a disheveled crowd, a limping Mrs. von Strap, and a wheezing Mr. von Strap, was that they would not discuss the details of their discoveries until the doctor had gone. He examined Mrs. von Strap first, at her husband’s insistence, and declared that she simply needed a lot of ice packs and a few days of bed rest. There was no harm to the baby. Mr. von Strap sported an enormous bruise and was lucky not to have cracked any ribs. All of this was relayed to the group to ease their minds, after they were invited to the couple’s salon.

“I shudder to think, if that monstrosity had caught Malla in the stomach, as it was aiming to do…” He shook his head.

Jora blinked and his eyes travelled to glance at Hila from the very corner of his vision. She couldn’t help blushing. If her shoe heel hadn’t broken, causing the sprained ankle, Malla would likely be in a very much worse state at present.

Mr. von Strap caught the direction of Jora’s gaze. His jaw dropped.

Hila, who had wound up next to Jora, could feel the weight of many eyes on her.

“The goddess works in strange ways,” was all she could think to say. “I am sorry about both of your injuries.”

He laughed, in a hollow way. “I think we were rather lucky, don’t you?”

Next, Jora reinforced that the results were of course to be shared openly with the shrines, as was in the contract drawn between the von Straps and Jora. But any disclosure to the press was to be on the von Strap’s end, not the team’s. “One can’t be too discreet,” Jora agreed.

They also agreed that the results of their recordings and photography would be copied and posted to the von Straps as soon as possible.

And finally, the question that Hila knew Jora was burning to ask. For whatever reason, this was the passion that seemed to drive his work, more than any other.

“Did you hear what the ghost said?”

Essifus blinked.

“The ghost. Clogue. When I asked him about the afterlife, he began whispering in your ear.”

He blinked again. “I didn’t hear any of that. It must have been after he knocked me into that wall. My head was ringing terribly, I couldn’t hear a thing. I barely knew what was happening from then until the whole business was done!”

Jora studied him for a moment, almost suspiciously. Then his shoulders drooped the slightest bit. “I see.”

“I have a lump on my head the size of an egg,” Essifus said cheerfully.

“Darling? Are you almost done?” A faint voice wafted from the doors behind him.

“I think our business is concluded, yes? I am so very grateful for your assistance,” he said hastily, already stepping towards the doors. “The remainder of the sum we agreed upon will be deposited first thing tomorrow. Really can’t thank you enough, but, excuse me, my lady needs me.”

With that he dashed back into the bedroom and the door clicked shut behind them. Low voices carried through, but nothing more.

\-----

They emerged, in a sense, victorious, led out by Eltus, who seemed in shock. It was pitch black, and a pair of drivers were selected from the staff to take them to an inn in a pair of e-carts. “Not a word until we’re in our rooms,” Jora commanded the group before they were split between the two smaller vehicles. He was obeyed. The entire group seemed to be stunned. Hila was with Tremys and Merrik. Tremys kept fidgeting with her machinery, positively itching to begin playing back the recordings. Her elbows knocked into Hila’s arms several times. Hila decided not to comment and instead, emptied her mind.

Several times Hila opened her mouth, ready to break orders and began chattering, but stopped herself. Tremys shook her head warningly, pointing at the front of the e-cart, where the driver sat one thin wall away. Her fingers flitted over buttons and switches.

After what seemed like an eternity they arrived and unloaded at the inn. Cheery warm lights glowed on the lower level, though the upper ones were dark. The von Straps, or Eltus, must have radioed ahead, because the owner met them to offer them dinner.

Before long they were sat comfortably in a private dining room, surrounded by bowls of light soup, fresh rolls and fruit pastries. Their bags had been taken up to their rooms by the staff. Hila looked down at the soup and considered, with some wonder, how she could ingest the stuff of life when she had been so close to death itself.

Jora rose. The other four sets of eyes locked onto him as if hypnotized. He strode to the door, checked that it was closed, and returned to his seat. His hand trembled only slightly as he raised a glass to the center of the table.

  
“To our shared success,” he said solemnly. “And to the von Straps.”

The toast pitter-pattered around the room. The other four took fortifying sips of wine. Hila, who had never much enjoyed alcohol, took the slightest sip and was the first to lower her glass. She realized suddenly that Jora’s glass was full of water. He hadn’t touched the alcohol before him.

“I know it’s bad manners to discuss business over a meal,” Ufter said easily, “but Jora, if we don’t talk about this, I think we’re going to explode.”

“Excellent point.” And with that, they were off. “Tremys, we’ll need you to get those photos developed as soon as you can. You left word with the usual lab that it’s a rush job, right?” She nodded. “Excellent. Until we can make quadruple copies of the tapes, please guard them with your life.” Another grim nod. Jora cracked a smile. “Not tonight. We’ve all earned a good rest. In the morning. Ufter, are you injured?” He shook his head. “Is anyone else?” Head shakes all around. “Excellent. Dig in.”

Naturally, as they ate, the conversation turned more cheerful. They were stunned by their success. Jora attributed it to the clergy’s presence, making Hila blush and Merrik wave away gratitude. The topic turned to Essifus for quite some time, dissecting the likelihood that he had actually heard what the ghost had whispered of the afterlife. The general conclusion was that even if he had been such a good liar as to hide the truth from them, they were in no position to interrogate their patron and unlikely to ever see him again.

“In that sense, a failure,” Jora sighed wistfully. He was swirling his water glass. Tremys, Ufter and Merrik had poured themselves seconds of their drinks. Hila wondered if perhaps Jora disliked the taste as much as she did.

Jora’s words instantly caused a small uproar.

“We saw it-”

“Recorded it-”

“Photographed it-”

“Reputable witnesses-”

“We succeeded at sending it home,” Merrik added helpfully. “Now we know how to lay them to rest.” Before the practical test it had been an educated guess. The others rained acclaim on him, and he modestly insisted he had merely followed instructions.

“And to our priestess,” Jora added, raising his glass once more. “Her goddess smiled on us, and protected the unborn innocent today. That family sleeps in peace because of her. And That Far One, of course,” he added, inclining his head to Merrik, who nodded.

Hila, who had a mouthful of flaky pastry, blushed wildly. Jora’s eyes were almost indecently intense. As he sat he seemed to withdraw, and he turned his gaze to the notebook he constantly carried with him, writing in what seemed to her to be an illegible scrawl. Tremys and Ufter seemed used to this and proposed toasts until Tremys had to half-carry him down the hall to his room, dump him on his bed, and hastily retreat as he groaned.

“Not proper for a lady of the cloth to see,” she grunted, dusting off her hands as she caught sight of Hila, who stood in the hall.

“Perhaps not proper,” she agreed. “You could’ve asked Merrik, I’m sure he’d-”

“Snap under the weight,” Tremys said firmly. It was true, Merrik had a waifish build. “In any case, that would be awkward, don’t you think?” She closed the door behind herself. “Ufter and I, we’ve known each other since this whole business started. Which isn’t long, but traveling in someone’s company, you get to know them pretty well. He won’t mind.”

Hila nodded, though she couldn’t imagine being so lackadaisical about anyone of the opposite gender except Cannel being in her quarters.

“Luxury rooms this time,” Tremys added, continuing down the hall. “I hear we even have our own rooms. Good night!” She ducked into the door with her name scrawled on the slate in chalk.

Hila entered her own. It was a tiny space, little more than a closet, though with an admittedly soft bed. Her backside sank into it as if into a cloud. She sighed happily, tipping sideways and resting her face on the pillow. She hadn’t even cleaned her teeth, or changed.

Her hand drifted to her pocket.

She was glad she hadn’t changed. She sat bolt upright, patting all over her body, feeling any possible hiding place. There was nothing to be found. She stood up as a cold chill ran over her, and raced out of her room, leaving the door gaping open, to the dining room.

The owner and his wife were gone. A young man was scrubbing the kitchen. Jora still sat scribbling in his notebook. There was no one else. His dark eyes rose to hers in surprise as she stopped in the doorway.

“Hello again,” he said.

“Hello. I- hi.” She dropped to her knees and began feeling along the floor near where she had sat. Had his wineglass still been full? She wondered, vaguely, but she was mostly preoccupied.

“What did you lose?” He stood, closing the notebook, and dropped to his knees on the floor as well.

“Just a little… a keepsake, a trinket, a…. but it’s very important,” she gabbled, panic rising in her throat. She reached under the tablecloth with no thought of how ridiculous she must look. “Important to me, that is.” She whacked her head on the table as she scooted out and swore.

Jora tactfully kept any comments to himself. He was near her now, skimming his hands through the folds of the tablecloth where it met the floor. “What am I looking for, Hila?”

“Just a- there!” She saw it finally, caught in the whirls of the carved chair back, near where back met seat. She grabbed it and pressed it to her chest. Jora stared at her. She cautiously held out her hands and opened them to reveal an intricately engraved tube.

“Is that a pen?”

She nodded, trying to slow her heartbeat. “A keepsake from home.”

He stood again, dusted off his hands, and offered her one. She shook her head and stood on her own. He took a healthy step back, recreating a polite distance between them.

“What an interesting choice,” he mused.

She looked down at the pen. Her mouth pulled down from its relieved smile into a grimace.

“I’ll show you,” she said. She pointed down at the notebook he had left on the table. “May I?”

He held it up and flipped to an empty page. She uncapped the pen and scribbled over the page with her pen. No ink touched the page. She twisted the other end, and a nib emerged. She scrawled with that side too. No ink. She turned it back to the uncapped end, began scraping out lines, and to Jora’s mild surprise, the ink flowed smoothly.

“It only ever works the third time you try it,” she explained. “Double-ended, but always dry… until it’s not. My- someone bought it for me, at a festival. Supposed to be lucky. My father always said it was a trick, something to do with balances, but, well, we all thought it was lucky.” She stared at the pen, capping it.

“Hila?”

She looked up again. Jora looked concerned.

“Oh,” she said, “I’m just tired. Thanks for helping. Excuse me. Good night. And- congratulations.”

She hurried away before he could say anything else.


	5. Chapter 5

“I hope,” Hila chattered out, “I never have to ride in one of these again.”

She felt certain she had chipped a tooth while speaking. It wasn’t just the cold. It was the unbelievably jarring crawling vehicle, which seemed to shudder with every forward pace it managed. The treads that rolled at its sides in place of tires took up half the path, meaning that they were left with a very thin carriage to sit in. Hila was jammed in with Tremys so tightly their shoulders were squashed together. Jora and Merrik fared worse. And Ufter took up the entire back row. Tremys batted at her instruments with a mittened hand, swore, and ripped off her mitten to fiddle with some dials bare-handed.

“Careful,” Ufter warned her. “You could get frostbite pretty quick up here.”

Hila glanced out the small window and regretted it.

“Up here” was halfway up the side of a mountain, traversing a narrow path that was two feet deep in snow. There was a sheer drop to their right, with a fall of at least a hundred feet to the next ledge, and farther than that to the valley floor. Another cliff rose not more than a hundred feet of valley away, blocking most light. They crawled slowly towards a plateau, guided by Jora’s machinations at the controls. He squinted furiously through the glass window and kept the crawler chugging ahead. Snowflakes drifted down in a flurry, not quite obscuring his view but certainly making everyone uneasy. Winter was fierce, this high up.

“We’ve come all this way,” Jora said grimly. “We may as well see it through, no matter if you babies get a chill or not.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned at them.

“We’ve come all this way,” Merrik repeated, “to find something that wants to kill us!”

“Not us, specifically. Everyone,” Ufter said helpfully.

“That is not comforting,” Merrik muttered mutinously. 

The ghost they were seeking was a complete mystery. The mayor had written to Jora begging for help as word spread of their success. The easiest route to the next town was completely blocked by a berserker of a ghost. The ghost would attack anyone who stepped foot in what she seemed to consider her territory, and nothing they had tried could placate her. More than a few had been beaten to death, or pushed off cliffs, over the last few decades.

Hila wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, and reminisced about the warm inn. About a soft bed. About not meeting a violent end in a gods-forsaken mountain pass.

After their first success, she had to admit, she was afraid. They had achieved what they had wanted, but no one in the group had predicted how dangerous that would be. What would happen, after all, if this ghost wouldn’t lay to rest so easily? If something happened to Merrik, she could recite the words easily enough, but without That Far One behind her, would it work?

“Let’s hope your gods both smile on us today,” Jora announced loudly, apparently addressing Merrik and Hila. “We’re as close as we’re going to get. Everybody bundle up and get out.”

They were already wearing every layer they possessed. Hila delayed as long as she could, rewinding her scarf around most of her face, before she realized she was blocking in Tremys. She clambered out reluctantly, stepped ankle-deep in snow, and immediately slipped, taking down Merrik with her.

“Your goddess isn’t smiling on us?” Jora asked.

“Hard to say, with her,” Hila grunted, as Ufter lifted her by the shoulders. He set her back on her feet. “Thank you, Ufter.” He smiled. She extended her hand to Merrik, who was flat on his back. “She works in strange ways, after all. Would you like me to check?”

“Check?” Jora asked.

“Yes. Wait a moment.”

“We’re all freezing,” Tremys grumped, but Jora shushed her. Digging deep underneath her layers, Hila extracted the pen from her pocket. Leaning in through the open door of the vehicle, she began scribbling on a page Jora had torn from his notebook.

The pen began writing exquisitely smoothly. Her heart sank.

“Well,” she said, turning back to them as she stowed the pen once more. “Hard work is the biggest part of luck, in any case.”

Jora did not look comforted. He pointed ahead. “Let’s go, team. Ready, Tremys?”

“Yes,” she panted, trekking after him, “but I doubt I’ll be able to pick up any recordings through this wind!”

“Then get the camera,” Jora said. “They say one thing about this ghost: that’s she’s mighty consistent.”

“The remains should be straight ahead,” Ufter said helpfully.

They trekked forward, following in his footsteps as he carved a route through the snow. They soon approached a short cliff, a strange rise of rock where a path had been blasted long ago.

Huddled under the slight overhang was an ice-glazed corpse. It was withered to mostly bone, though the cold had done some preserving. The remains of a dress were frozen directly to its skin. Snow piled against the body’s contours. The base of the cliff was somewhat protected from the wind, and a few scattered bones were frozen to the ground, as if the woman had been interrupted in her final meal.

“Do you hear that?” Ufter roared through the wind as they stood, transfixed by the sight of the dead woman.

“Hear what?” Jora called back, cupping his ear. He brought up the rear, and the group turned to see him.

He didn’t get a chance to ask again. An ear-splitting wail grew in volume, and rapidly. They whipped to face forward again just in time to see her.

The ghost appeared as little more than a whirl of snow, but snow that flew up, against gravity: out, against wind. She was unnatural, unsettling, the longer they looked at her. She screamed as she advanced, impossibly quickly, faster than a running man. Her arms flailed, her teeth gnashed, her hair flew, the indistinct expression on her face expressing pure rage. As soon as she was within striking distance of Ufter, she gave him such a push that he went flying. Tremys turned slightly towards him, torn, and received a blow to the cheek that knocked her into a stagger. The ghost advanced, still wailing in her horrible banshee shriek, on Merrik, who backed away. He began reciting the sermon, and she turned from him immediately. Her wordless scream honed in on Hila.

Hila held up both hands before her and backed up. She was no warrior.

“Hila!” Ufter cried, and raced to her side. The ghost turned to him and with a kick and a slash of her hand, knocked him to his knees and laid open the outer edge of his ear. Blood sprinkled across the snow, falling from her reddened hand. Hila took another step backwards, terrified. Her foot caught a rock under the top layer of snow and twisted painfully.

The ghost’s first strike hit her brow, slashing it open. The second was such a hefty blow to her ribs that all the air rushed out of her. Then the blows multiplied, raining on her, the undead rage unleashed on her, focused on the priestess for whatever reason.

Hila couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. One eye was full of blood. The other was hidden under her hands. All she could do was curl into a ball, trying to protect her head, flinching every time the ghost battered at her with inhuman speed.

A dull roar pounded in her ears. Hila wondered, through the pain and panic, if this was how she would die.

Suddenly the blows had stopped. Hila could hear Ufter struggling through the clouds in her head. She straightened up as much as she could, slowly, to see him wrestling with the ghost, wrapping his arms around her only for her to slip away and land a blow.

“RETREAT!” The bellow was like a whisper to her. Ufter gave the ghost a hefty shove and raced to Hila’s side, throwing her over her shoulder. She cried out in pain. “Retreat!” Jora roared again, throwing open the door of the crawler, waving them in. Ufter clambered in, banging Hila’s head against the door. The frame shook as he dropped into the back row and set her on the floor. The others threw themselves in and slammed the door not a moment too soon. The entire crawler, crafted from solid metal, began to shudder as the raging ghost of a long-dead woman hurled herself against it.

“Hold on!” Jora yelled, and, glancing into a mirror set in the side of the crawler, set it to race away, backwards. The passengers lurched uncomfortably, wondering if the ghost was strong enough to push them over the edge.

Slowly, much too slowly, the screams and jolts began to fade. Within minutes there was only the normal uneven ride of a crawler easing over collapsing snow and debris.

Hila held a hand to her spinning head and moaned. She slumped over in a daze.

“Jora,” she heard Tremys say from far away. “Jora!”

“What? I’m trying to get us out of here! It’s not far here from that plateau where I can turn the crawler to face the right way again.”

“Stop when you get there,” Tremys commanded.

There was a long pause as they considered something. Hila wasn’t sure what.

Jora said, “Right.”

They rumbled on.

\-----

Time passed. How much, Hila wasn’t sure. Probably not much. She wiped away the blood trickles before they reached her mouth and eventually they slowed. Every movement hurt. At last the crawler shuddered to a halt.

“Snow,” Jora commanded. And, “Fire. Cloths, in the mechanic’s kit.”

Hila wasn’t sure what that meant. The door opened and she nearly fell out. She wrenched her eyes open as Tremys clambered over her, wading back out into the snow. The meager warmth collected in the carriage fled through the door. The others trooped out until she was alone with Jora.

He came much closer and crouched before her, his face sad. “Hila, I am so sorry. You look a mess. We’ve got to-”

“Why did she come after me?” Hila groaned.

“I don’t know. But I am sorry.” He accepted a fistful of snow from Tremys and looked at a greasy cloth Merrik presented him with. He scowled and pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, wrapping the snow in that instead. The entire group searched the ground for twigs, leaves, anything that might prove flammable.

“You can’t start a fire with this, boss,” Ufter told Jora. “It’s all soaked with snow or covered in ice. There’s no point.”

Jora scowled fiercely and stretched out the ice pack towards Hila’s face. Startled, she jumped back. His face softened.

“Hila, you’re covered in blood. I’m just going to clean it a bit, all right?”

She considered, and firmly said, “No.”

“We’ve got to-”

“I’m not dying. We wait,” she said. “Until we’re somewhere warm with clean water. Not on top of a mountain, melting snow some deer has pissed on.” She had rarely been so firm in her life, and found it was a pleasantly powerful feeling. Or perhaps that was delirium setting in.

There was a long pause, but Hila already knew she had won and didn’t bother staring Jora down. At last he nodded, presented her with the snow pack, which she pressed alternately to the gash on her eyebrow and a rapidly swelling lip. Everyone piled in. With no further mention of their botched first aid attempt, Jora maneuvered the crawler to face the right way, and they began the two-hour climb down the mountain.

With the wind, and the new snowfall, it took three.

\-----

Hila had never been so close to Jora before and wasn’t sure she cared for it. His hands were very warm, but he was clenching them whenever they were free, which was unsettling. He sat in a chair opposite hers, their legs angled so that their knees didn’t touch, and attempted to wipe the blood off her face with the cloth dunked in hot water.

“We can’t reach the doctor on the radio,” the innkeeper squawked, bustling around their chairs with hot teas and toddies. “We’ll keep trying, but-”

“Thank you,” was all Jora said. The innkeeper took in some signal from Ufter, who stood holding open the door. At long last she departed, once Ufter promised to call her if they needed anything. His twinkling eyes, Hila reflected, probably had something to do with her acquiescence.

The others were clustered around the edges of the fireplace in the parlor of the suite, wrapped in blankets, murmuring. Hila wished they would stop throwing glances her way. She felt vaguely guilty about sitting so close to Jora, though it was of course for a reason. Cannel flashed through her head. 

Jora rinsed and wrung out the cloth once more. It was so warm it nearly hurt. Hila studiously kept her eyes on his ear as his face bobbed just in front of hers. “This will sting,” he warned her, and began to dab at the cut through her eyebrow.

Hila hissed and flinched away.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “but it has to be done. Hard to see how bad it is.” Hila had caught a glance of herself in a mirror in the entrance, and seen enough red that it had turned her stomach. She knew what he meant. “Just brace yourself.”

She forced herself to hold still as he scrubbed, as gently as possible. After a long moment, his rag came away filthy and he seemed satisfied, giving a short nod. Their eyes met.

Hila forced herself to look away, out the window. “More snow,” she commented dully.

“You’re not going to like this,” he commented darkly. She turned to see him pouring something from a bottle onto a new cloth. “It’ll clean the cut.”

“Why won’t I like- OW!” She leapt away at the sizzling, acid burn of the liquid on her brow. The others whirled to see the commotion. Tears sprang to her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were from pain or humiliation. “Sorry,” she called to them. “It’s nothing.”

Jora had half-risen from his seat and sank down again, looking horrified.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, to him this time. The others turned back to their murmurs. “I wasn’t expecting that.” This time, knowing what to expect, she kept herself still. And kept herself busy by scolding herself, internally, for being so weak against pain. Pain had never been any significant part of her life. The memory of breaking her wrist as a child was so distant she could remember descriptions, her thoughts about the pain, but not the sensation itself. Even the burns she had received at her parents’ bakery, reaching excitedly to hot pans in attempts to help, were so long ago that they left no marks on her hands.

“I’m sorry this happened.” Jora finished and picked up a pad of gauze. He secured it with a paste that dried almost immediately. “This will flake off in water,” he warned her, holding up the paste bottle, “so don’t wash your face unless you’re prepared to redo the whole bandage.”

“Understood,” she said stiffly.

He handed her yet another cloth, soaked in what she had finally recognized as strong, clear alcohol. She looked at him questioningly. “Your lip,” he explained, pointing. She pressed it obediently and felt a trickle of it slip between her lips, bitter and burning.

“How’s the ear?” Jora called, twisting around to see Ufter. Ufter hurried over to them and boasted of the four stitches Merrik had administered.

“Where does a novitiate of That Far One learn to sew?” Jora mused.

“Not sew. Make stitches,” Merrik corrected. “It has a lot to do with preparing bodies for funerals. Beyond that, you really don’t want to know.”

His eyes strayed to Hila. She gave him a friendly nod, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile. The memory of the attack was still fresh in her mind.

“I want to know why the berserker went after Hila,” Ufter commented. “She was single-minded. Totally focused on her, as soon as she saw Hila. Bizarre.”

“Unpleasant,” she added.

“No doubt,” Ufter said comfortingly. His enormous hand hovered near her shoulder, as if to pat, but then withdrew. “I’ll start my research as soon as I’ve warmed up. I’ve heard that the library in town is comprehensive-”

“No,” Jora interrupted.

Ufter lifted an eyebrow.

“We’re in over our heads here,” Jora said. He stood and took a few steps away from Hila. She shivered, clutching her blanket closer. “It was a mistake to come here when we knew the ghost was so violent. I’m not putting anyone else at risk.”

Tremys glanced at Hila. “I can see what you mean.”

“I don’t think that thing can be reasoned with,” Jora added. “I doubt we’d get any information from it.”

“Information?”

“About the afterlife,” Jora said impatiently. “If it even speaks, it’ll lie. And anyway, look at Hila!” He extended a hand, gesturing to her. Hila shut her eyes at the weight of the stares on her. “It’s not worth it. No matter the payday for laying it to rest. I won’t have anyone’s death on my hands.”

When she looked around there were nods all around. It made sense, but part of her wondered at the way Jora’s priority seemed to be information rather than getting rid of the ghost.

“The evening is yours,” Jora added. He glanced at his watch. “What’s left of it. We’re leaving in the morning, if Hila is well enough to travel.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hila protested. Her lip throbbed as she moved it in speech.

“We’ll see,” he said.

“You should get to bed,” Tremys told her, stepping closer. “Here, do you need help?”

Hila stood, shaking her head, and felt herself stop halfway to a straightened posture. Everything ached, and she realized she probably couldn’t even lift her arms enough to remove her bloodied shirt. “Yes,” she grumbled reluctantly.

“Come on, then.” She laid a very light hand over Hila’s shoulder and guided her to the spacious room set aside for her. She helped Hila changed into clean sleeping clothes and set the bloody shirt to soak in a washbasin. Her eyes lingered on the many bruises that stained Hila’s body.

“I’m sorry,” she offered. “None of us expected that, or we would never have-”

“I know,” Hila sighed. She couldn’t bear a grudge. They had all been overconfident after their first success. “I’ll just sleep. Good night.”

She saw the lights flicker off and heard the door click. As tired and sore as she was, she lay awake for a long time, feeling the aches and wondering what she had gotten into. The first excitement of adventure was over. 

She would not show weakness by backing out of the bargain with Jora. Her shrine was counting on her. But now the real work would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that began the whole story. More information in later chapters! :)


	6. Chapter 6

“Don’t think of this as a defeat,” the mayor advised them yet again as they clambered into an e-cart. “When you return in summer, the conditions will be safer, you will be more experienced. I’m sure she’ll give you no trouble then.”

Jora nodded, tight-lipped, as he took Hila’s elbow to help her step up. She sat and clutched the blanket around her. The cage holding their luggage was snapped shut, and the mayor waved to them hopefully as they rumbled away.

There was silence for several miles before Jora asked politely, “How do you feel, Hila?”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “For the nineteenth time. Just as the doctor said.” Which was technically true. When the doctor had finally arrived that morning, he had pronounced her fit to travel, “but not much else,” in his words.

Merrik nudged her and passed a bottle of hot tea, which she sipped gingerly. “Sorry,” she added. The warmth crawled to her stomach and dispersed through her limbs. “I’m not a morning person,” she explained. “At all. Ever. Cannel used to say…” She trailed off, realizing this team, though they had discussed their shared mission in depth, had not spoken much on person details. They had no idea who Cannel was.

“Who’s Cannel?” Merrik asked immediately.

“Another priest at my shrine. My beau,” she said.

Ufter raised an eyebrow. Merrik whistled quietly.

“We don’t have vows of celibacy,” she told them, blushing. “We can wed. Not that I have.” She resisted the urge to add, Not yet. Though it had certainly been on her mind lately. After years of courtship with Cannel, she did often wonder what his next step would be.

Ufter shifted his gaze to Merrik, who shrugged. “We can’t. Our clergy are very devoted to solitude and quiet meditation and reflection.”

There was a brief moment of Ufter suppressing a laugh, given that Merrik was smirking mischievously. He was certainly not quiet, or suited to solitude.

“I’ve heard the clergy of the God of Fertile Earth are encouraged to build relationships,” Jora mused. “Of all types. Is it true?”

She nodded. “That’s one reason why their shrines are so large they have to be in the countryside, typically. Many families to house.”

“Remember that festival of the sowing?” Tremys said fondly to Jora. He stiffened. “When that shrine maiden took a shine to you. I thought-”

“Can’t recall,” he interrupted, barely moving his lips. Tremys fell silent, chastened.

“You two knew each other?” Merrik asked. “I thought the team only formed a few months ago.”

“True,” Jora said. “But Tremys and I have been friends for, oh, a decade. We were neighbors.”

“In the golden days,” Tremys said.

“What are you talking about? That neighborhood was filthy, dark, and infested with-”

“Well, it wasn’t the nicest,” she protested, “but the neighbors cared what happened. They would check on you. Remember when they brought you soup when you had the seafoam snots?”

Hila had to snort. “The what?”

“Like a cold,” Jora explained. “But it thrives in the sea damp near the coast, and it’s absolutely disgusting, as you can imagine.” He had lost none of his discomfort, Hila noted. “We stayed in touch, and knowing her genius with everything mechanical, I asked her to join me when I started my hunt.”

“What inspired all of this, anyway?” Merrik asked.

There was a silence as Jora fidgeted, turning his notebook over and over in his hands. He stared fixedly out the window, though his eyes didn’t track any objects on the road outside. He was just gazing into space.

“It’s a long ride,” Hila offered. “We may as well talk.”

Jora blew air out of his mouth. “I lost someone.”

Tremys held up her hand in her lap, pointing at her ring finger. His wife. Something wrenched in Hila’s chest. He had had a wife, but something had happened to her. She imagined, briefly, what she would do if something happened to Cannel. She banished the idea.

“I… didn’t handle it well.”

They glanced back to Tremys for more details but she gave a minute shake of her head. She was not going to share any more secrets. Perhaps it was a veiled reference to brainblow.

“When I had recovered my… when the worst of the grief was past,” he said, clearly editing his story as he spoke, “I decided I wanted to know. I needed to know. And it would help a great many people if they knew, too, what lies beyond. Where their loved ones go. What exactly happens in That Far One’s domain.”

Merrik bit his lip. Hila wondered if he had some trepidation about seeking knowledge about his deity’s realm. It did seem to tread the border of pious behavior, but they were all invested in the project now.

“And so I came aboard,” Tremys explained. “Ufter worked with me at the repair shop at the time. He has such a brilliant mind, though he did tend to kill every machine he touched.”

“My strength is research,” he agreed easily. “And, you know.” He flexed an arm that strained the seams of his coat. “Actual strength.” He grinned widely. It was an infectious grim that broke the somber mood. Hila found herself laughing and then rubbed at the sore spot on her ribs where the ghost had kicked her.

“And there you have it,” Jora said firmly. “When we failed, I sought support from the temples, was delegated to the shrines, and luckily, your two shrines were willing to assist.”

“I’ve already begun my report on the latest encounter,” Merrik said cheerfully. “I’m sure everyone will be stunned. We always think of the dead as peaceful, resigned that their time on the earth is over. But this does suggest a realm of possibilities, that one could be so discontent, and still so connected with the mortal realm.”

Hila, who had sent her first report back to the temple but whose head swum too much to contemplate writing about the latest ghost, blushed. A day or two wouldn’t make so much difference, surely.

“I have high hopes,” Jora repeated firmly. “And if we can’t get information from the ghosts-” the possibility seemed to depress him- “at the least, we can give the haunted people some relief by laying the ghosts to rest.” He nodded at Merrik. “Once we find a more peaceful one, I would love to see whether it responds to the sermon when spoken by non-clergy.”

“An experiment definitely best suited to when the ghost is not trying to kill us,” Ufter agreed.

\-----

Ufter explained their next destination as they rolled over the countryside to the next town. Snow was thin on the ground as they left the mountains. Their driver took them on a smooth ride over gentle hills and plains that was nearly soporific. Hila found herself struggling to pay attention.

The Station for Divine Transmissions was housed in a shabby studio and broadcast-capable center. The radio station that had transmitted its stories and news there had long gone bankrupt. There simply weren’t enough homes within broadcast range to turn a profit. This was the sprawl of countryside where farms prevailed. The current occupant was instead spending a small fortune, provided by the Goddess of Flowing Water’s temple, recording ambient noises and distant transmissions with the newest and most sensitive equipment, in hopes of finding a trace of the voices of gods.

“I’d love to hear what it could record from our subjects,” Tremys said wistfully.

“Wasn’t Clogue’s screaming clear enough for you?” Jora said.

So far the researcher, one Addit Bears, had had about as much success as Jora before he was joined by Merrik and Hila. That was to say: none. The nearest villagers said listening to the buzzing of empty tapes all day was having a negative effect on him and nicknamed him Addled Brains.

The station, being positioned on a riverbank, had been flooded by an absolute deluge and resulting rise in the waters a few years ago. The broadcasters who made their abodes on the ground floor at the time were drowned in their sleep. Though it must have been a relatively peaceful end, they were said to be causing trouble at the station. Puddles were appearing with no visible source of water or leaks. The restrooms and kitchen area would have their taps turned on and flood. Addit also reported that he could hear voices, vague conversations, just too low to be intelligible, when he was alone (which was always).

“It seems a minor case,” Ufter concluded. “But who knows if they’ll escalate. Or if they’ll destroy the building with water damage.”

“Death by building collapse,” Tremys said thoughtfully. “Building collapse by water erosion.”

Hila shuddered at the thought.

“Let’s not jinx the poor man,” Jora scolded her.

Hila leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, holding her blanket up to her chin. The necessary information had been imparted, and all her battered body wanted to do was rest.

When she awoke from a jolt, there was an enormous coat spread over her. She sat up groggily, surprised by the weight of it.

“We’re here,” Ufter told her. “Or, nearly.”

She plucked at the collar of the coat, feeling the heavy fabric. “Is this yours?” she mumbled.

He nodded brightly. “You were shivering.”

She could vaguely remember a dream of the snow, of the fear that had possessed her when the ghost came at her. And the mountainside, split by a strange red line. She hoped she hadn’t done anything embarrassing in her sleep. Without a word she handed the coat back. Ufter nodded, his eyes twinkling in a sympathetic way.

The jolt had been the beginning of a paved road. After a few moments, as Hila scrubbed at her face with a sleeve, the driver called back, “There’s the station. I’ll help you unload.”

As they piled out she found herself staring at the building. It boasted a tower, with a collection of antennas popping off the top like unruly hair. The brick had been patched up or replaced in several places. The building rambled off to the side away from the riverbank, expanding into wings that she was sure were left empty these days.

The front door, which was weather-beaten and had peeling paint, opened, and a small, round man poked his head out. “Oh! The ghost raisers! What a pleasure!” 

He stepped out and scrambled for his footing for a moment, slipping on a small patch of ice, before advancing towards them with a hand already outstretched. “Addit Bears. Lovely to meet you all.”

Introductions went around as the driver trundled off in his e-cart. Hila was last, and she saw Addit’s eyebrows nearly pop off his forehead as he took in her purple-splotched, bruised, cut face.

“Hila,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I’m a priestess of the Goddess of Luck.”

“And what misfortune befell you?” he gasped.

The group was silent, seeing how she would react, possibly wondering if she would malign them in her response.

“We had a rowdy one,” she confessed.

“A rowdy ghost did that?”

“Yes.”

“You mean-” his eyes sparkled with excitement- “you mean you’ve actually raised them?”

“And laid to rest. One so far,” Jora agreed. He neglected to mention their other, utter failure. “We believe we may be able to assist with your problem.”

“I do hope so. It’s distracting from my work. Well, it’s cold out here, come in, come in!”

The inside of the building echoed with the faint sound of dripping. It was damp, and the more distant windows down the hall were boarded up. Addit led them to the right, towards the sunny, well-lit areas, and into a room with a heavy door lined with mysterious, bulky, even towering equipment. The roof rose thirty feet over them. Wires from the antenna wound down to the machinery.

“Here we are,” he said proudly. “This is my transmitting room. I’ve rarely had problems in here. They didn’t pass away in here, you see, so they only occasionally chatter in here. If the door is closed, kindly leave it that way. It means I’m recording and very sensitive to other sounds.”

The group chimed in their respectful agreement as he led them back out. “And this is the kitchen area- gods damn it!”

He rushed over to the sink, which was spewing water, which splashed off a dirty plate and sprayed the counter. He wrenched it off. “Closed the damn thing earlier,” he muttered. “See what I mean? It’s small things, but it’s mischief nonetheless. Please make yourselves at home in here.”

The tour continued into a narrow hall lined with doors. “Here we are,” he concluded. “These are the bedrooms. Where, unfortunately, the tragedy took place. You’ll see it’s up against the river.” He opened a door to a tiny chamber, empty but for a metal bedframe, and pointed out the window. Sure enough, there was the water flowing just beyond the end of the building. “Several rooms here were occupied at the time.”

“And this is the primary location of the activity?” Tremys asked, businesslike.

“Yes.” He shook his head in frustration. “My room is that one there. Of course, if your investigations lead you there you may enter. I cleaned up a bit so you won’t be shocked at my slovenliness.”

Hila found herself smiling. She couldn’t help liking the man.

“Do you need anything from me?” Addit asked hopefully.

“No, thank you. We’ll just begin,” Jora told him.

Addit bustled away, back to his research, as the team unloaded their bags onto the bedframe. Tremys, as usual, began fiddling with a recorder.

“Do you think we’ll have any luck before dark?” Ufter asked.

“Not sure,” she mused. “But it’s worth trying. The more data we can collect, the better, anyway.”

Jora was pulling something from his bags. Hila leaned closer and saw a tube of black paint.

“Takes ages to dry,” he said grimly. “But should wipe off without too much trouble. I’m going to mark all the taps. If they turn on without mortal influence again, we may gain evidence into the corporeal nature of the ghosts. Merrik, if you could please warn Addit we’re dirtying up his sinks?”

Merrik nodded and hurried off. Jora headed back towards the kitchen. Ufter and Hila, toting extra batteries and tapes, followed Tremys, who measured nothing of any significance. She checked for temperature fluctuations, subaudible sounds, even made audio recordings that did not actually record anything unusual. The only possible sign of anything unnatural was that goosebumps rose on their arms when the others stepped into certain bedrooms. After agreeing on the bedrooms where it had happened, they decided it was more likely due to the knowledge of what had occurred there to anything else. Until Ufter told them those were the particular rooms that had been inhabited the night of the flood, and where the residents had drowned.

After several hours of trailing after Tremys, sending off teammates to listen to the recordings in the quietest corners, and in general waiting for anything special to happen, they at last agreed to dine on the riverside. The sun was setting, bugs were buzzing, and the water trickled peacefully past. It was an idyllic setting. Hila hated it.

She swallowed her loathing for the river and maneuvered herself to be the farthest member of the group from it. Tremys had rolled up her pants and was dabbling her feet in the shallows. They unpacked the rich slabs of cheese, bread and meat the inn had provided and ate as they discussed new strategies.

“I’m sure we’ll have some luck,” Jora said, glancing at Hila, as the group did every time luck was mentioned. “After dark.”

Hila nodded absently, her eyes on the water.

“What we’ve recorded is already enough to convince the faithless of the afterlife,” Merrik said cheerfully. “They say attendance has dropped at every shrine in the city in the past few decades, ever since Lev, that nut.”

“I think ‘nut’ is a gentle term,” Tremys chimed in. “’Dangerous maniac’ is more accurate.”

“Donations have dropped as well,” Hila agreed. “Significantly. Of course the shrines will always survive, but the visitors we talk to still mention remnants of the cult around the city. It’s all well-hidden, they say, but there, nevertheless.”

“Disconcerting,” a voice behind them said. Heads twisted to see Addit, silhouetted against the sunset glow. He sat with them, holding his own dinner. He gazed thoughtfully across the water. “I don’t tell everyone this, but I lost my daughter to the cult.”

There was silence as they digested this. Murmured sympathies began to come forth. Addit nodded acceptance. “She was so bright. The sweetest, most cheerful person, and always devout. That’s how they got her. ‘If you’re so devout, don’t you have faith in what’s to come? Don’t you want to pass on what you see to others?’ It always hurt her so, to see the beggars, the hungry, the cruelty of this world. We used to live in Effer, you know. It’s everywhere.” He shook his head in disgust. “It was six years ago they convinced her to let them murder her, hoping she’d come back to tell them what she saw. I miss her every day. I wonder what she would have become, how many lives she could have cast her sunlight on, if she’d escaped that cult. But they got her in the end.”

“Do you ever…” Jora paused. “Hear her here? The way you do the drowned?”

“No. Thankfully, she seems at rest.” He shrugged. “Maybe it is more beautiful there. I’ll see her one day, in any case.” He thought for a moment. “Not for a long time, though, I hope.”

It was sad to hear of the crazed death cult still hurting families, so long after its leader’s death. Hila’s heart sank.

“That’s what led me to this,” he said, pointing a thumb behind him at the station. It loomed over them all as the sky stained purple, and then black. “I’ve always been faithful, but I hoped, if I could hear the gods, it would bring me peace. Stop me wondering. Let me know that they’re taking care of my little girl, wherever she is now- because if they exist, that’s their duty.” To their surprise, he chuckled. “And a god wouldn’t be a god if he shirked his duty.”

“That Far One watches over us all,” Merrik reassured him. “After the transition- after passing away- I’m certain that we will be in his loving hands, and he will comfort us until we are at peace with what we have left behind. And in time we’ll be reunited with all our loved ones once more.”

A crazy urge rose in Hila. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to say, What about now, while we’re all hurting, what comfort is the far-distant future? But she knew her place. She was there to be devout, to draw the goddess’s eye. It would do no good to anger a god with impiety.

So she held her tongue, and watched the river as if it were an advancing, hungry beast.


	7. Chapter 7

They worked late into the night, with absolutely no success. There were some indicators that the gods were watching. A bedframe that had held itself together for decades gave way with a crash, collapsing in rusted pieces to the floor, while they conferred with their backs to it, giving the entire team a fright.

“Inevitable water damage,” Jora said. “The timing was coincidental.”

Or the way that the wrapped sandwiches from the inn were sealed with the image of a smoking, extinguished candle, That Far One’s symbol.

“Did anyone notice that logo used anywhere else at the inn?” Merrik asked musingly. The one he had picked, and his alone, had two candle stamps on it. The others shook their heads.

The paint was discovered to have leaked on Jora’s bag, in the shape of a water droplet, the Goddess of Flowing Water’s emblem.

“Fanciful nonsense,” he scoffed when Tremys pointed it out. She glared at him.

The exhausted Addit had fallen asleep at his station. The others closed the door quietly, leaving him in peace, and decided sometime in the hour just before morning to call it a night. They unrolled their blankets and curled up, well-spaced-out, on the floor of the entryway.

Hila could hardly sleep from the sound of the water burbling past the window. It left her uneasy. Before long the sound of the others’ steady breathing was all she could hear. And something in her bag, which she used as a pillow, was poking her neck. She sat up and dug it out, blinking when she recognized her pen.

She was sure she had put it in her pocket that morning.

When she faced forward again, the others were gone, and the water was rising.

She jumped to her feet, tangled in blankets, and fell to all fours. Her hands and knees splashed in the freezing water. She felt shock course through her. The four piles of blankets around her were empty. Every door was closed. In the confined space the water had nowhere to go but up. She clambered back to her feet, searching frantically for the source, as the water rose over her ankles. It was as if it seeped up from the floor itself.

And then, suddenly, she was no longer alone.

Four men and one woman stood scattered against the walls. Their eyes were all locked on her.

“Who are you?” she sputtered. Panic threatened to overwhelm her.

There was no answer. The five sets of eyes gazed at her, intense, shadowed, tormented. The water rose over her knees.

Hila splashed her way to the closest man and reached out to grab his shoulder. To her shock, her hand passed straight through him. He continued to stare, completely unaffected. “Who are you?” she cried. “How do I get out? Where are the others?”

His mouth opened.

As if a recording were playing, his voice came out, though his mouth didn’t move. A wispy voice circled her ears.

_Tell my girl, if I could have wed her, I would._

His mouth slowly closed again. Hila whirled around, searching. Perhaps she had to hear all the ghosts’ messages to set them to rest, and then the water would stop. It sloshed its way up to her waist now. But as she stared around the room, she realized the other four ghosts had gone.

She turned back to see the dead eyes of the near ghost still staring at her.

_Tell my girl, if I could have wed her, I would._   
_Tell my girl, if I could have wed her, I would._   
_Tell my girl, If I_   
_Tell my girl, if_   
_Tell my girl_   
_TELL MY GIRL_

She shrieked, putting her hands over her ears, and began beating on the nearest door. The water was nearly to her shoulders. Her fists were scraped raw, and then bloody, as the water rose, and rose, and rose. Arms aching, she pushed, shoved, battered, and screamed. The door would not budge.

The water was over her head.

With a last gasp of air over the surface, she was underwater. She pressed her eyes closed, pinching her nose, and waited. When she looked up the ceiling was submerged as well. The water pulled at her, pulling her down, flowing gently, and finally she had no more breath.

Hila inhaled, and

\-----

woke sputtering, gasping, clawing at her mouth with both hands.

The others snapped awake simultaneously, filling the room with a cacophony of curses and coughs. As their eyes began to meet, they realized they were all suffering the same sensation of choking, though the room was dry. There was not a drop of water to be seen. Every door except the one to the station’s recording room was open. They were alone.

Hila pressed a hand to her pocket and felt the pen inside. Her hands, when she held them up, were unscathed.

“Did you,” Jora began slowly, “just dream that-”

“Yes,” Ufter said, nodding. His face was pale. The others began to spill details of the identical dreams.

“What did yours say?” Hila asked cautiously.

“Tell my ma, I wronged you, and I’m sorry,” Merrik said.

“Have faith, Elyna, we’ll be together soon,” from Tremys.

“I never got to tell Carbados I was sorry,” Ufter said.

“Tell my girl, if I could have wed her, I would,” Hila offered.

All eyes turned to Jora.

“If I had woken sooner,” he said slowly, his eyes hollow, “I could have saved us all.”

He looked up.

“They were awake, at the end. They knew what was happening. It wasn’t peaceful at all. These are their final messages to their loved ones. Their final thoughts. I have the feeling, to lay them to rest, we have to pass them on.”

Hila nodded thoughtfully. It made sense. “I just wish,” she said, looking down at her unscathed hands, “that they hadn’t had to drown us to tell us.” She shuddered.

“By the gods!”

They jumped, rising as the muffled shout echoed down the hallway. Fearing the worst, they sped to Addit’s station and pulled open the door. He was feverishly pressing buttons, tapes winding inside of machines.

“What is it?” Ufter demanded, searching the corners of the room. There was no one else there. No water. No ghosts. Nothing alarming at all.

“You won’t believe it,” Addit said shakily. His hands trembled as he rewound the tape. “I can’t believe it. After all this time… listen. Listen. Just a few moments ago, while you were all asleep- hell, I was asleep. It woke me. I was leaning against that wall, but my neck ache woke me, and I moved to this empty space.” He pointed to a spot between enormous machines, occupied by a table. “My arm moved in my sleep, it must have pressed the recorder, because I have no memory of turning it on. It’s a complex enough series to start it,” he mused thoughtfully. Hila wondered what the odds were of his sleeping hand falling upon the correct order of buttons in his sleep. “And I heard this.”

He pressed play.

At first there was no sound but a gentle breath. Addit pointed to himself. The sound of him sleeping.

Then a sound as if the wind blew, or someone sighed.

“You’ll see me soon enough,” a mellow voice whispered.

A snort, and then a breathless pause. But no more sounds emerged. With a click the tape ended.

“Then I took it out to listen,” Addit said. “But this sound- this was in the room with me. _This sound! These words!_ ” His eyes were full of joyous tears. Dawn broke through the window behind him, casting a ray of light on his face that made him blink. It struck Hila’s face too, blinding her, though in the flash she was sure she saw a thin red line, and it seemed to lead off towards her group before her eyes cleared. “It was a true voice. And not of this earth! You can see I’m alone in here!”

The others began to relate their story, their words tripping over each other. Addit’s eyebrows rose higher and higher with each word. By that point tears were streaming down his face in wonder. “A miracle,” he whispered. “A miracle.”

“Could it have been one of the ghosts?” Jora asked.

Ufter said thoughtfully, “Five drowned that night. We each saw one. I had the woman. It didn’t sound like my ghost at all.”

“But it happened at the same time,” Addit enthused, “the same time as you were all visited by ghosts. Surely a god sent them! Surely this is a god’s voice!”

Hila wasn’t certain. God, ghost, or something in between, he was certain he had his evidence.

\-----

Ufter took them each to the village library, a cheery but tiny place, where they browsed through the records of newspapers from the time. Though the population was scattered, they did have a short weekly circular. The flood and drownings were documented. From the caption on a blurry photograph in a picture they attached names to the faces they had seen. From there it was trickier.

That evening Ufter took them to a tavern, where they described themselves as traveling researchers. They said nothing of ghosts. As if by accident, while three cups deep, he drew out stories of the tragedy.

“He’s masterful,” Hila observed, sipping reluctantly at her wine.

“That he is,” Jora murmured, swirling his glass of water. Once again he had abstained. He stifled a heavy cough, covering his mouth with the edge of his coat.

“That damp in that place isn’t good for any of us,” Tremys muttered. She reached unabashedly into the pocket of his coat and dug out a small bottle. “Take some damn medicine, Jora.”

He shook out a pill and swallowed it without further comment. When he saw Merrik and Hila looking at him questioningly, he offered, “My lungs give me some trouble at times. The damp doesn’t help.”

She nodded. A heavy hand tapped on her shoulder. She turned slightly to see a bearded, lumbering male behind her.

“Excuse me,” he said bashfully. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, and I think it appropriate we should meet.”

He blushed heavily above the beard.

Hila thought of Cannel and laid a hand on his. “I’m sorry, my friend. I have someone back home.”

He nodded. “Thought so, a fine lady like you. Well, would you care to play at darts with us?” he added. His wave took in the table. “Your friends are more than welcome to join.”

“Hila,” Ufter’s voice boomed, “come, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He was in a much smaller group now.

“Excuse me,” she said, and hurried over.

“This gentleman,” Ufter said, gesturing to a white-haired, red-nosed ancient, “remembers the tragedy. He said that a certain Mr. Forrens was very fond of a lady who is present this evening.”

“Aye,” said the old man. Hila was on high alert, having heard the name of the ghost she’d seen. “That lovely lady there. Me wife!” He pointed with his cane to a woman who was merrily drinking and laughing with friends.

Ufter stared at Hila pointedly.

“Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” she murmured, and pulled Ufter away. Or tried to. It only worked because he came willingly, because she could never have budged him by force.

They stepped outside into the chill. “She’s married,” Hila scolded him. “And she’s happy. I can’t tell her now about a dead beau!”

“Not now,” he agreed. “But in the morning. We’re going to pay a social visit to each of our assignments, and pass on the messages. It’s the only way for those poor souls to get some rest.”

Hila, who had rarely socialized with anyone outside the shrine before beginning this adventure, sighed in trepidation. But she went back inside and played darts with the group, as they did their own digging, not without uncovering a few gems.

\-----

It was a satisfied crew that reconvened at the e-cart in front of the inn late the next afternoon. Hila was still smiling.

“Well, someone was successful,” Jora commented as he took her bag from her and slung it into the e-cart. He looked solemn, and, to Hila’s knowledge, had not left the inn while they went about their missions.

“Yes,” she said. “Mrs. Penvale was very kind and made some excellent tea. When her husband stepped out into the garden to pull weeds, I passed on the message. She told me they’d been… ‘close,’ was her word. And they had thoughts to wed. But Mr. Penvale was such a comfort to her during her mourning, the rest of it just fell into place. She has fond memories of that poor drowned man, but all is settled now.”

“Hopefully, that’s enough that they can now rest in peace. Just like an unrequited love that was finally expressed.” He smiled at her, but half-heartedly.

“How did your mission go?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Incomplete. We’ll wrap it up on the way back.”

The others spilled in, chattering about their missions, as they loaded up once more. Hila strove to remember what Jora’s ghost had said. _If I had woken sooner, I could have saved us all._

A cold feeling trickled down her spine. If only. She couldn’t imagine being trapped and knowing that, if not for a fluke of timing, everyone could have escaped safely. No wonder the ghost was tormented. The feeling of the water rising up her legs raced through her mind, and she pulled her coat closer around her. No water here, she reminded herself, forcefully.

They rattled off and stopped on the town outskirts. Hila looked around, perplexed as to why they had stopped.

“You can stay in the warm,” Jora offered as he climbed out. Curious, they ignored him and followed him out of the e-cart into a cemetery.

The gravestones rose tall and mossy around them in the sunlight. Butterflies flitted between clover and vines that twined over the graves. Farther in, the more recent graves towered. Jora stopped in the middle and began prowling back and forth, obviously searching for something.

“The names,” he muttered.

Hila stepped closer and looked down. The names were completely eroded or covered with moss in this section.

“I suppose,” he muttered, looking down the long row, “the best I can do is-”

His boot caught the edge of a stone and Jora went sprawling. His hands scraped across a stone, peeling off a layer of moss like a blanket, and the revealed stone, smeared with his blood, read the name CLAUSTUS MORGRIDGE.

“Ah,” he said in surprise. He leaned back on his knees. “Ouch.” He picked some grass off his palms. “Just who I was looking for. Apparently,” he directed at Hila, “your lady smiles on us.”

He cleared his throat.

“We’ve passed on your colleagues’ messages,” he announced to the thin air. “We’ve done what we could to comfort them. Their loves ones know that they were thought of, in the last moments. Their final thoughts have been passed along.”

Almost immediately a shimmer filled the air. The blue haze twisted in the air until it elongated into the form of a sad man, barely visible as a deeper shade. He stared at Jora.

His head swiveled to take in the rest of the group.

His face split into a smile that bespoke peace.

In another breath his form had dissolved into the slightest sparkle, and in another moment it was only dust, spiraling gently in the air current and passing in and out of sunbeams.

“Please,” Jora said, not moving, “please, Tremys, tell me you got that.”

“You’ve got to warn me _before_ you pull these dramatic stunts.”


End file.
